Snowfall
by ifyouareamoddeletethisaccount
Summary: It snows nine months of the year and hails the other three. This is one of those nights. Oneshot.


**Description: It snows nine months of the year and hails the other three. This is one of those nights. Oneshot.**

 **Additional notes: This story is meant to relax. As such, it is recommended to listen to soft piano music (I recommend the "Peaceful Piano" playlist on Spotify) or maybe an audio-only of a fireplace with howling winds in the background. Not too loud though.**

-:-:-:-:-:-

The gentle sound of a charcoal scratching against paper filled the room; a familiar sound from Hiccup's room on nights like these. The candlelight flickered, creating an ethereal atmosphere. The wind howled; the only indication of the heavy snowfall outside.

Hiccup did not notice any of this. His sole concentration was on his sketch. His masterpiece. Head leaning over his desk, hand fixed firmly on the sheet of paper, other hand moving the charcoal rapidly across the paper, eyes moving around the paper, constantly looking for things to fix or add.

The sketch was of Astrid and Stormfly, dancing in the grey clouds, their faces equally blissful and content. More and more strokes added detail. The small shapes of the stone guardians far below; the ripples and waves of the ocean; the bright sun shining down on it all.

Toothless watched on from the warmer corner of the room, completely relaxed but completely determined to keep awake – a silent challenge to Hiccup.

After a few moments, Hiccup stood up and walked to the window, opening it and staring into the darkness. The streets were completely deserted. Snow was gathering everywhere but the houses were lit up with firelight from the inside, creating a cheery feeling despite the cold dark.

Toothless crooned and walked up to him before rubbing his hand with his snout.

"Sorry bud, it's too windy for a night flight. Definitely tomorrow though." Hiccup said before stroking Toothless' head and closing the window again.

Walking back to his desk, he continued drawing. It would have to be the best picture he had drawn yet. Nothing else would do for Astrid.

-:-:-:-:-:-

The crackling of the fireplace drowned out the howling winds behind the thick wooden walls of the Haddock household. Stoick leaned back on his big chair, letting out a content sigh, as he nursed the mug of warm mulled mead in his big hands.

In his room above, he knew that Hiccup would be hard at work, preparing a gift for Astrid. Stoick shook his head fondly. Astrid seemed to receive a big gift at least once a month and small gifts almost every day.

The day had been a relatively easy one. As it was one of the first days of winter, much of the day had been spent fishing with the rest of the village before ice covered the primary fishing grounds. Part of the day had also been spent helping people with their dragon problems. That was usually Hiccup and Fishlegs' job but Fishlegs had caught a cold the other day and was currently quarantined at home.

Well actually, Hiccup had done most of the actual helping, with Stoick just following his orders and enforcing his commands.

Not for the first time that day, Stoick reflected that Hiccup would be a fantastic chief when the day came. When the day came. Thor, he was almost 50 already. And he could feel his aching bones. Maybe that day was to be sooner than he expected.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Stormfly crowed in appreciation as Astrid fed her a piece of chicken.

"Goodnight, girl." Astrid murmured with a smile before quickly rushing into her house. Shaking the snow from her hair, she looked around for her family. Seeing only her father, Arnþór, she walked over to him.

"Everyone else in bed?"

"Yeah." Astrid's father responded softly, not looking up from his whittling. He seemed to be whittling a small battleaxe. His hands worked quickly and deftly.

Astrid sat down beside him.

"How was your day?" Arnþór asked.

"It was great! I went flying with Stormfly, Hiccup and Toothless and went fishing with the others."

Arnþór smiled, finally looking up. "That's good to hear. But I could tell you had a good day already from your voice?"

"My… voice?"

"Yes, it's cheerier than usual. Especially considering it's snowing when you usually want to practice your axe throwing at this time."

Astrid turned red.

"It's Hiccup isn't it?" Arnþór said. He continued before Astrid could protest. "Good. I always liked that lad."

Astrid unleashed her stored-up protests which her father promptly ignored.

"Anyway, I think I'll head off to bed now. Good night, Astrid."

Astrid sighed. "Good night father."

Arnþór pushed himself on his wheelbarrow to his room, lame legs dangling over the edge. Before, she would have offered to help but she knew he would turn it down anyway.

-:-:-:-:-:-

The two-limbed blacksmith sat on a wooden chair, staring at a fireplace and singing a ditty tune. In his prosthetic hand, he held a wooden mug filled with ale and in the other, he held a King's Table piece. He waved his game piece in sync with the music.

In front of him was Snotlout. Scowling, he was glaring at the King's Table board as if he could will it to let him win. Gobber sighed before turning to him.

"Now, no' to be disrespectful, bu' my king is comple'ly unguarded on the righ' side."

Snotlout scowled harder at the board before suddenly moving one of his pieces forward.

"Hah! I knew I could do it!" Snotlout shouted triumphantly.

"No nee' to get your skivvies in a bunch." Gobber muttered before moving one of his pieces.

Snotlout swore violently. Despite his inexperience with the game, even he could see that Gobber's move had completely destroyed his attack.

"I quit!" Snotlout shouted, this time annoyed. He flipped the table with the boards flying everywhere. Fortunately, none of them fell into the fireplace.

Gobber rolled his eyes. "Ye know ye need to learn this game. All nobility need to."

"Then why do you know it?"

"So tha' I can teach idiots like you!" Gobber said loudly before roaring with laughter.

Scowling again, Snotlout reached for his mug of mulled ale. "One day, I will beat you at this game so hard that you won't remember what it means to be beat!"

Gobber grinned. "Tha' doesn't even make sense."

Then again, Gobber thought, that is the poeticism of it…

-:-:-:-:-:-

 **And there we have it. This was more of a writer's exercise than an actual story – it helps me to capture characters and to show not tell – but I hope you enjoyed it regardless.**

 **And please, tell me if you liked it and, if you tried it, whether the sound/music was good or bad.**

 **Thanks!**


End file.
